


Laundry

by superwonderful



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, Pointless, non-explicit roadrat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7899475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superwonderful/pseuds/superwonderful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's almost Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laundry

Neither of them particularly liked dressing in civilian clothes. The truth of it was that the money had spoiled them. Re-purposing nothing outside of what one could find, or what was left of it, was no longer satisfying.

Sometimes, Junkrat wanted a carton of neat, red-tipped kitchen matches. Sometimes, Roadhog wanted a frosty beer with a slice of orange. Civilian clothing opened the door to supermarkets, pubs, and more. You couldn't always rob the place; keeping a low profile was beneficial at times.

The clothes were keys. So, they had to be washed.

\---

It was night. From the golden hue of the laundromat window, Junkrat watched the sparse amount of people. Passing, kicking up snow, following the sidewalk obediently in both directions. Some held devices in their hands, illuminating their features in the darkness. Cars soared by as dark rectangles.

Behind him, Roadhog grumbled. Junkrat heard him slide a few coins into the dryer. Junkrat turned, scratched his chest through his turtleneck. He felt itchy.

Roadhog was wearing an extremely large black pea coat, one that didn't quite cover his bare belly. He'd found that, in the evenings, wearing his mask with civilian clothes wasn't much of an issue. People made faces, but mob mentality seemed to consume vocalizing any fear or wonderment. Maybe they thought he just got out of a rave.

"Why's there coins for a washing machine," Junkrat asked, coming up beside him.  
"What."  
"Why they gotta coin slot on a thing for washing clothes? Does it pop out a lil' plastic wrapped cake or somethin'?"

Roadhog gave him a look, void beneath the mask.

"Told you. So there doesn't have to be someone here all the time to get the money," he said.

Junkrat glanced around, observed that they were truly alone. Christmas lights circled the neon sign on the door, a fluorescent red "24/7." A moment later, he frowned.

"Whadda ya mean 'told you?'" He mimicked Roadhog's voice.  
"I told you."  
"No, ya didn't."  
"I did."  
"You told me that, already?"  
"Five minutes ago."  
"Really?"  
"Yes."  
"No, ya didn't."  
"I did."  
"Why?"  
"You asked me the same question a couple of minutes ago."  
"Ya serious?"  
"Junkrat," Roadhog said, warning.

Junkrat palmed the underside of his neck, frowned deeper. Eventually, he slid himself down to the floor, rested his back against the machine.

"What." Roadhog eyed him.  
"I just bloody hate that I can't remember that."  
Roadhog said nothing.  
"I forget your name, where I put stuff, what'cha tell me. You know I do it."  
"I guess."  
"Doesn't it bother you?"  
"Not really."

Junkrat turned his gaze to a tinsel tree decoration, resting on a shelf beside a tank of bleach. Ruby and lime baubles adorned it. It was cheap looking.

"I dunno, every time I forget," he said. "It makes me nervous. Thas'all."  
"Why."  
"Because. I dunno," he said, eyes widening a bit.  
"What."  
"What if, when I'm an old bloke, I have one of those things where you lose all of it?"  
"All of what."  
"Your memories."

Junkrat drew his long legs, metal and not, up to his chest. The silence was thick. Roadhog shifted on his feet.

"You mean Alzheimer's," he said.  
"Yeah! That what it's called?"  
"It's one of them."  
"Well. I mean, yeah, I worry about gettin' all-, all-." Junkrat ran a hand down his sooty face.  
"Alzheimer's."

Junkrat didn't reply. Roadhog scratched his own scalp.

"You're twenty," he began, tired, "quit thinking about that kinda shit."  
"It's not like I try to," Junkrat said, raising his voice. He jabbed a thumb to his chest. "Ya think I wanna be sad, 'Hog? Make myself sad on purpose?" He threw his arms out. "Sometimes ya just think things and ya say 'em!"

Junkrat groaned, pressed his fingers against his blackened temples. Yet, his fury didn't last long, turning to something somber in the ensuing quiet. He rested his pumpkin colored hand across his forehead.

"M'sorry, pigface," he said, softly, "shouldn't take it out on you."

Roadhog's fingers found their way to his rings. He turned one at his index finger, hesitated.

"It's fine," he said.

Junkrat lifted his hand, glimpsing Roadhog settling down beside him. Snout pointing forward, Mako rested a large hand on his own drawn up knee, pushing the other leg out in front of him. He gave his wide stomach a few pats. There was a stretched and pointed quiet.

"Say stuff," Mako finally said.

Junkrat blinked, perplexed.

"You want me to talk?"  
"Yeah."  
"Oh, well." He murmured. "Uh."  
"Okay."  
"Um." Junkrat stammered. "Uh, do you-..."  
"What."  
"Do you-, you like music?"  
"Do I like music."  
"Um." Junkrat nodded.

Roadhog brought a hand to the fat of his neck, scratched. Junkrat had asked him this question before.

"I like drums. I don't listen to music much now, but I appreciate moshing," he said. "You?"

Junkrat sat up, smiling. He dug a pinky in his left ear.

"Eh, y'know. Whatever we found that worked."  
"Okay."  
"Yeah! Like, uh... I used to know what they was called. Big orchestras. Blood pumpin' stuff."  
"Okay."  
"I'm like you, though. Music was more of a thing for me before," he said, flicking a dot of wax away.  
"Before what."  
"Things went-" Junkrat raised his hand in a missile shape, whistled, brought it down into his waiting palm. "BWOOSH."  
"When was that."  
"When I found what I found."

Junkrat chuckled, looked heavenwards. Ceiling-wards, in this case. Roadhog had heard this before.

"It really was somethin'. Every single person I thought was me mate turned on me," he said. "Ah, we used to listen to everything. Down a few cups of bootleg grog, break things, fool around." Junkrat grew wistful. "Takes me back. Wish it wouldn't, considerin' the kinda scum they turned out to be."

Roadhog nodded. He resumed twirling his rings. Junkrat's purple eyelids drifted down.

"We could get some CD's," Roadhog said.  
"Yeah?" Junkrat beamed.  
"Don't see why not."  
"They still sell CD's?" He rocked on his bony butt.  
"Think so."  
"Yeah! Oh, I'll hafta make a list!"  
"Hm."  
"Do CD's even fit in the bike?"  
"Uh."

Junkrat's smile froze for a split second. He tapped his long chin. After a moment, he blinked, turned to the older man.

"Oh, uh, so, when'd you...?"  
"What."  
"Uh," Junkrat said, shrugging. "When'd ya stop listening to music? Or why, I 'spose."

This was new. Roadhog had a gut reaction.

"Omnics."  
"Ah."

For an icy moment, they both contemplated the disyllabic word.

"What'd they do to your music?" Junkrat snickered. "'Sides sourin' it by bein' themselves."  
"They came and took everything," Mako said.

Junkrat straightened, as if yanked up by a string. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry. Forgot."  
"There wasn't time to listen to nothin', when they came," Roadhog said. "You just watched and moved."  
"Oh, mate," Junkrat said, in a weak voice.

Mako's leather glove creaked, balling his hand into a fist. He seemed in a passionate trance.

"Sympathize with them. Wanna give 'em rights. Bullshit," he growled.  
"Ya got that right," Junkrat said, startled, yet propelled by his bodyguards's momentum.  
"Do anything to go back. Kill the scum who created 'em. Make them suffer."  
"I hear ya, mate. I'd be right there with ya."

Junkrat clapped a hand on Roadhog's upper arm, giving it a squeeze. "Scrap 'em all, s'what I say!"

Roadhog placed a great palm over the hand. He felt Junkrat's skin tense, the tiny knuckles fidget. Then, they settled, fingers curling to cup the shape of the fat of Roadhog's. A few moments passed. It was an awkward feeling. Both their hands began to sweat, but neither moved.

"Did the best you could, Mako," Junkrat said.

The clock on the wall ticked.

"Hey, ya wanna go blow up a car?"  
"You're not gonna get Alzheimer's."

Junkrat blinked.

"Well-"  
"Don't think about it, Junkrat."  
"Hey, you're the one bringin' it up!"  
"I know." Roadhog pulled his hand away. "Just ask."  
"Ask?"

The door to the laundromat chimed, creaked open. The pair eyed the intruder, an older woman holding a purple, plastic basket. She gave them a look before walking to the dryers.

"If you forget something, ask me," Roadhog said, turning to him again.  
"How'll I remember to ask ya if I can't remember what I need to ask about?"  
"If you even THINK you forgot something, ask me."  
"So," Junkrat inhaled, "if I get the feeling I've forgotten something, remember to ask ya, in a general kinda sense, what the thing I forgot is?"

A few seconds passed. The woman coughed, somewhere out of their vision.

"Yes."  
"You think that'd work?" Junkrat planted his chin in his hand, thick eyebrows high.  
"It could."  
"Yeah, alright. Give it a shot."  
"Drink coffee, too."  
"Why's that?"  
"Good for the brain."  
"No foolin'?"  
"Decaf."  
Junkrat tittered with laughter.  
"Jamison," Roadhog said.  
"Nah, I know."

Junkrat rested his cheek on his knee cap, studied Roadhog for a moment. A soft smile spread on his face.

"That's a nice coat, love."  
Roadhog looked down at himself, touched the breast pocket.  
"It's real slick on ya."  
"Never thought I'd see you in a turtleneck, ain't half bad."  
"Ta."  
"Hides that goiter of yours."  
"Oi."

\- - - -

There was a coffee vending machine at the front of the laundromat. Roadhog bought Junkrat a cup and carefully watched him drink it.

"Why d'ya want me to drink this, again?"  
"Good for the brain."

Their ears caught the music on the speakers, gently ghosting through the empty, well lit place. It was something sugary; a sparkly tune about having a happy holiday.

"Ever heard this song, mate?" Jamison offered Mako the coffee.  
He took it, moved his mask up to take a sip. "No."  
"Me neither."  
"Ain't bad, though." He handed the cup back, lowered the mask.  
"Yeah, s'kinda fun."

Junkrat tapped his peg leg on the tile. Roadhog pat the side of his thigh with a closed hand.

They watched the snow fall in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> draftydogfacehat.tumblr.com


End file.
